Adventures of the Intern (satire,drama,medical) complete!

[stormy tom]

Intro: A background character in one of my roleplays had a certain... allure. I couldn't resist writing some stories from her perspective. You don't have to read the roleplay to enjoy the story
This story will be small segments of, as the title says, the Intern's adventures. The story is set in Toronto, Canada, and will mostly take place in Toronto General Hospital, modern day.

She was just a normal intern... and of course she would experience all the usual things a normal intern encounters: romance in the work place, an irritating but strangely interesting patient...

Table of Contents:
Rules (below)
Reviews (below)

Part 1
Chapter 1 - Amy
Chapter 2 - Enter James
Chapter 3 - Analysis
Chapter 4 - Enter Rebecca
Chapter 5 - Reunion
Chapter 6 - Enter Doctor Dresden
Chapter 7 - Homework
Chapter 8 - Visiting Hours
Chapter 9 - Lean on Me
Chapter 10 - Clearest Green

Part 3
Chapter 21 - Poker Face
Chapter 22 - Between the Lines
Chapter 23 - Finally, and Forever
Chapter 24 - Marshmallows
Chapter 25 - Surprises, Surprises
Chapter 26 - Cocktails and a Kiss
Chapter 27 - Can I get Your Autograph?
Chapter 28 - And Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite
Chapter 29 - Say My Name
Chapter 30 - Finally Free

Part 2
Chapter 11 - First Encounter
Chapter 12 - Regards, Hallmark
Chapter 13 - Useful Skills
Chapter 14 - Just a Trim?
Chapter 15 - A Noble Effort
Chapter 16 - Hands-On Learning
Chapter 17 - Workplace Conflict
Chapter 18 - Q and A Time
Chapter 19 - Deal or No Deal
Chapter 20 - Challenge Accepted

Rules
1) Do not copy this story for any reason. You are welcome to read and enjoy, and even find inspiration from it! But it is my work, and you may not explicitly copy or distribute it as your own.
2) Feel free to offer constructive criticism and comments! I'm putting this up so I can get feedback!
3) Go ahead and correct me on any mistakes I make, if I get a medical detail wrong or something. Feel free to let me know!
4) Do not be rude, please. Though please be honest with your feedback.
5) The story is all done! Feel free to post, or even suggest extra little chapters if you want more.

Reviews

none atm

[stormy tom]

Amy
Draft 1

The intern adjusted her name tag. It was day one of her co-op program. Time to take everything she was learning in her text books and do it on real people. Or rather for real people. She was training to be a nurse, not Dr. Frankenstein.

She was the youngest of her class, and the smartest. In the esteemed opinion of her professors, at least. But it was her passion, after all. She had been studying her field from library books and internet research far before starting university. Nothing made her more excited than 500 cc's of heparin.

Ignoring a small group colleagues quietly discussing the layout of their 'Morphine Journal' (a book to record any amusing things drugged patients might, and probably would, say), the intern walked into Toronto General Hospital.

Amy Pearson checked in for her first co-op shift, striding with confidence and a speed not many people would expect a shorter person to be capable of maintaining. Her brown ponytail swished behind her as she ploughed through the hospital to her destination, letting the smell of antiseptic fill her nostrils. She felt at home in this place. Her heart beat with excitement at the thought of all the hours she had put in to get here.

Room 200 was her destination. She opened the door to find a cosy private room with a small window overlooking the streets below. But no patient. No bed.

A woman in her early forties was preparing bags of medication on a steel prep table. She looked up and smiled at Amy, setting down her syringe. "Miss Pearson, I was told you would be arriving today. We've got a patient arriving soon. He's in surgery at the moment. I've heard you're the best your year has to offer! We're going to need you. He's going to need one hell of a cocktail."

And Amy shivered with excitement just a little. This was not going to be some run-of-the-mill saline drip.

"Wendy Davies," the woman offered Amy her hand to shake. "Wash up, and we'll get all set up."

Amy obeyed, concise and clinical in her movements. Her professors had told her that her bedside manner could use a little work, but she was an excellent chemist, and the medical world needed someone like her. It was more important that she keep patients alive and well than make them smile and laugh. Although those were important too. Amy had assured her professors that there would be plenty of other nurses to make sure her patients got their 'best medicine' while she handled the sorted out the more important tasks of actually administering the proper medications.

Amy was a chemist, not a people-person. She was a mechanic for the human body, not a psychiatrist. She wasn't there to be anybody's friend. She was there to fix people and send them home alive and well.

What she wasn't expecting was for her first patient to test everything she believed in, to challenge her views and the way she had always lived her life. And maybe he would never know himself how much he had shaken her world. Maybe Amy wouldn't ever truly understand it either.

[stormy tom]

Enter James
Draft 1

Amy studied the reports of the man in the bed next to her. Wendy was right: he was on one hell of a cocktail. Not quite the cocktail patients with more life-threatening conditions might need, but still impressive. Painkillers, sedative, antibiotics...
Though not an emotionally sensitive person to start with, Amy felt any sympathy she might have mustered as she continued the report and Wendy finished explaining the situation.

"This is the most serious sporting injury I've seen in all my history working here," Wendy mused as she took readings.

Amy resisted the urge to scowl. She had never felt sympathy for anyone with a sporting injury. War veterans, of course. Those men went out and risked their lives for their country. She understood that. But a man who spent his time whacking a leather ball around some grass trying to get it in a net? Or sliding around on ice hitting a small rubbed disk with a stick? And all for the entertainment of the population? Amy just could not bring herself to have any sympathy for the man in the bed. Of all the things he could have done with his life, he had chosen this. Hockey. Why did hockey players, or most professional sportsmen, get paid more than surgeons? It didn't make sense. Maybe the man in the bed would go make something more useful of his life when he recovered.

And recovery would clearly take some time. Amy was no surgeon, although she had read many medical practise books of every variety, but she understood just how grave that injury looked. She understood the terminology of the report, and what the scans and x-rays meant. Luckily, she was not the least bit afraid of blood or any other accompanying internal substance. This man's treatment was going to involve some blood. And blood only, that was the hope. If his injury got infected he could say goodbye to that leg.

"Here, take another set of vitals while I go check on another patient," Wendy instructed, leaving the form for Amy to record the numbers. Then the senior nurse was gone, and the intern was left alone in the room with the unconscious man and his beeping machines.

"Okay mister, let's see if you regret your life choices after all of this," she mumbled to herself, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his limp arm, considering telling the other students that room 200 would be a great place to accumulate juicy entries for their 'Morphine Journal'. When the occupant awoke, of course. He was currently sedated quite heavily, and likely would be for some time. The pain of his injury would be too much to bear at this point and he would go straight into shock.

"Name..." Amy checked her patient's bracelet while the cuff filled with air. "James Hunter. Okay, Mr. Hunter. Sit tight." She filled in his name at the top of the page, then read his blood pressure and recorded that too. The other numbers came off the other machines he was connected to, such as pulse and O2 levels. Amy wrote in the time, then stared at the 'notes' box. Did she have anything else to add? That somebody should send this player the bill for his stupid sporting accident, regardless of his medical coverage? He could probably pay for it.

Amy snorted and went to find Wendy. It was her lunch break, and she had homework to do.

[stormy tom]

Analysis
Draft 1

The next day brought much the same as the day before: raucous laughter from her other classmates as they shared the contents of their Morphine Journal in the absence of any superiors. A shift of taking vital signs and monitoring drip rates. Lunch alone in the break room with a pile of text books and homework.

Her patient remained blissfully disconnected from the world. Amy wondered what his reaction would be when he woke up. Or rather, when he was allowed to wake up. Mr. Hunter was currently drugged to the gills. At least he would probably be able to claim the best entries in the Morphine Journal. Not that anyone would ever find out about that journal apart from the students involved, unless Amy told someone (which she was seriously pondering, considering how hard it was to do her class work while their small but ample group filled the room with horrendously disruptive laughter).

"How on Earth did you manage to screw up your leg that badly," Amy muttered flatly to herself, no emotion in her voice. She was merely curious about the physics involved in such an achievement. If he could walk ever again it would be surprising, and a miracle if he could do so without any support. The fact that his leg was still in one piece and attached to him was a miracle in itself. "I suppose ice is pretty hard," Amy chuckled, imagining all sorts of horrible yet impossible stunts this man could have pulled of to acquire such an injury. She didn't care about sports, and she didn't watch any. Sports seemed like people getting way too involved in stupid games to her. Sports should be fun, not a big deal like they were in the professional world. And they certainly gain such a high revenue and entire channels dedicated to them. Why should people who kicked or threw or whacked various objects, including balls and pucks, around a plethora of surfaces, such as grass or ice or cement, get so much attention? Why did such activities merit celebrity status?

Anyway... Amy was a nurse, and it was her job to make sure these idiots who arrived in her domain were properly patched up and sent on their way, regardless of her opinion of the cause of their injuries.

This James character was certainly a character, even completely unconscious. Amy was observant, one of the traits that made her excellent at her chosen career. So as she took another set of readings she began to pick out certain details of her patient's face. He had a solid jaw and strong cheek bones, a dying frown pressed into his features. The creases between his eyebrows were deep, but he lacked the lines in the corners of his eyes that indicated someone who smiled a lot.

So, Mr. Hunter was the serious type. And he was starting to grow a beard. The scruffy, dark bristle accompanied by the dark circles under his eyes made him look like a tired uncle, and his pallor gave him the air of a corpse. Whether nobly acquired or not, this injury was seriously affecting the man sustaining it. Amy had to admit that: she wouldn't like to be in the room when he woke up, that's nor would she want to be the one to explain the extent of the injury to him. Speaking of which... Amy glanced down at his leg, and then at her watch. It would be time to change the dressings soon. It was one hell of a task to look after that leg. There were pins from the external fixators to check, traction sites, and of course the open wound from the compound fracture.

"Sleep tight," Amy offered blandly, striding from the room to find her equipment and her supervisor so she could begin her next task. At least unconscious patients don't ask for much or bother you.

[stormy tom]

Enter Rebecca
Draft 1

"So, you intern at Toronto General, right?" A girl with strawberry blonde hair sidled up beside Amy, placing her lunch next to her fellow classmate and taking a seat at the café table. Amy slid a fraction of an inch away. It was a small table, and Amy didn't like uninvited guests.

"Yes."

"That's awesome! So do I," the girl replied, putting down her sandwich and offering a delicate porcelain hand with baby blue gel nails. They matched her eyes, which Amy looked right into with her own disapproving brown ones. The two girls shook hands with varying degrees of enthusiasm. "I'm Rebecca! But you can call me Bek, if you want."

"Amy," Amy replied. Rebecca batted her thick dark eyelashes with pleasure. Amy resisted a scowl, staring on with what turned out to be a dull expression of controlled frustration. She did not like interruptions, especially not during her breaks. And even more especially during class.

"Hey, you wanna share notes or something? Talk about our patients? I dunno," Rebecca shrugged her dainty shoulders as she pulled a small bag from them and placed it on the table, thus solidifying her presence. She did not give Amy a chance to reply. "I heard you got the hockey player! The rookie for the Canucks? The Harbinger of Death? Is he handsome or what? You're so lucky..."

"He's unconscious. Hard to say," Amy replied flatly. Frankly, men didn't interest her that much. Most of them were idiots, especially her colleagues, which were the only men she interacted with. She doubted her sports-star patient would make for good company. He was probably even more of an idiot than the people involved in the whole Morphine Journal activity.

"I dunno, men can be more handsome when they're deeply asleep," Rebecca speculated. "All relaxed and not trying to be manly or anything."

"Can't say I noticed."

"We should totally switch then," Rebecca joked with an over-exaggerated flick of her hand. She pulled out her notes. "Anyway, I've got this totally weird lady who comes in for transfusions every week and she's crazy! I swear. She was telling me about how her cat can use telekinesis. I was like, yeah sure, that's cool. She named her son Carl, but she named her cat Professor Phyllis the first. If that ain't a sign of crazy, I don't know what is."

Any felt her mouth flat-line as she pulled out her books and began flipping through for the section she needed for her next assignment while Rebecca laughed daintily at her own revelations. It was going to be a long, long day. I would rather talk to an unconscious hockey player than my own classmates... Maybe she had issues, but at least she valued and respected personal space.

[stormy tom]

Reunion
Draft 1

After lunch, Amy headed back to her patient's room to check his IV drips with Wendy. She quickly paused when she caught sight of a rather large crowd being herded through the ward and pulled back into the linking corridor to let them pass. The group approached room 200, and Wendy allowed them inside, every single one. Amy frowned, but chose to wait outside. It was not difficult to hear what was going on in the room.

They were all men, mostly in their early twenties, more interested in small conversations between groups of two or three. A couple of men looked a bit older, one in his late thirties and another in his mid fifties. Amy narrowed her eyes, focusing in on the words.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to talk to him for a while longer, and certainly not have a proper conversation. At this point, the pain might kill him. He was already in deep shock when he got here," that was Wendy, explaining calmly.

"Can you give any sort of conclusive diagnosis at this point?"

"There is one thing for certain, sir, this man is never lacing his skates again. He might never walk again."

"Alright, well give him our best when he wakes up," replied what Amy assumed was one of the older men. There was little emotion in his voice, just a calm business-like manner. The other men muttered their own meaningless tokens of good-wishes and everybody exited the room. There was something very cold about the interactions, something Amy would not have expected herself to pick up on. Especially since her own attitude toward things could often be perceived as such. Patients were more tasks than people to her. She hated small talk and preferred to be left to complete her work in silence.

But that one heartless visit was worse than no visit at all, Amy thought. Everyone trailing behind who she realised must be the team manager seemed reluctant to be here. And that confused her. Weren't teams meant to be a family? Amy might not know a whole lot about sports, but the way it was portrayed made it seem like something anyone could get involved with and feel a sense of belonging. Be it players, fans... anyone. Apparently not. Those people had cared more about keeping positions filled than who was actually filling them.

Or maybe it was just like that in regard to this one player. The rest of them seemed to be friends.

Pushing thoughts of sports from her brain, for fear she might have an aneurism, Amy entered room 200 to get on with her work day.

[stormy tom]

Enter Doctor Dresden
Draft 1

Amy was pretty sure she was being stalked. She darted into a supply closet and closed the door quietly, peering from the darkness through a tiny window as Doctor Dresden wandered by. He paused near the door, frowned, then carried on his way. Amy released a sigh and left the closet.

Ken Dresden was the kind of person you would only expect to find in a show like Doctor Sexy. He was, of course, very sexy (not that Amy herself noticed), with his prince-like charm, glasses that could only be a prop (he was perfect, surely his vision would be), his smooth and godly blonde hair that occasionally flopped in his face adorably (so he could flip it back, of course, although it never happened during a surgery for health and safety reasons), and of course his rich and sympathetic brown eyes. The patients loved him, the nurses loved him, and of course Amy hated him. She had to. Somebody had to. And she wasn't being spiteful either: he genuinely rubbed her the wrong way. He was annoying, always flipping that stupid hair (buy a hair clip, moron), flashing her that charming gaze as if it would work on her because it worked on everybody...

And he seemed to have a... a thing for her. Gross. Amy wanted nothing to do with men. Especially ones that were too perfect. He was one of the best surgeons in this hospital, possibly in the province. Maybe even in the country. Wouldn't that be irritating. Oh well, that was probably why James Hunter had been sent to this hospital, so somebody with a pinch of skill could make sure he left this place with both legs attached, and preferably operational. Only time would tell at this stage... And in time, perhaps Doctor Dresden would leave her alone. Would stop tying to intercept her at lunch time and ask her questions about her work. If other nurses didn't stop coming in and bothering him during her study time she probably wouldn't mind so much. Actually, he was brilliant and she wouldn't mind gleaning his brain to feed her fascination for all things medical. What was it like performing surgery? And various other detailed questions that would send weak-stomached individual running for the toilet.

Yes, Amy would be quite happy to ask Doctor Dresden plenty of questions about his work if he weren't practically a celebrity and they kept getting interrupted. She'd had to move base and hide in the cafeteria to avoid him bothering her.

What's his deal anyway? Amy growled to herself as she headed off untailed to start her work day. Oh my word, he hasn't got a crush, has he? Oh Dresden, you poor thing. You picked the wrong girl. Possibly the worst girl to pick in this entire establishment. Well, I'll just have to crush him now while things are still fresh. And crush him she would. Besides, workplace romance was unprofessional, and this was not Doctor Sexy. This was Toronto Hospital in the real world.

Though in Doctor Sexy, she could have slapped him by now and gotten away with it.

[stormy tom]

Homework
draft 1

Top of her class, again. Amy didn't need to look at her paper to know that. She always got the best exam marks. Exams were easy. Even the hard questions weren't really hard. They were actually enjoyable, when the professor did a good job of making up something challenging.

"Oh wow, I've never seen anyone get a mark like that!" Rebecca surprised her from behind while she was admiring her exam paper in her favourite coffee shop. Rebecca sat down next to her once again. "You must be uber smart."

"I am," Amy replied, packing her exam away and finishing her coffee. She pulled out her homework and placed the heavy text books resolutely on the small table. Rebecca did the same. Apparently, the blonde had never learned a lesson in body language.

"Perfect! You can help me out with mine! I did way bad on it. And I studied, like, a lot hard. I guess the test studied harder." Rebecca chuckled with her silvery laugh and flipped some strawberry hair over her shoulder. She continued before Amy could ask what the Hell kind of joke that was. "My brother always says that. Anyway, my chemistry portion was a bomb! Have a look."

The blonde shameless slid Amy her exam, opened to the chemistry portion. Amy observed it, taking in the immaculate handwriting. She took a moment to analyse the underlining problem before sliding the text back. She met Rebecca's baby blue eyes with her own sharp husky blue ones. "You're making a lot of silly mistakes. You should review your answers before you hand these in."

Rebecca batted thick eyelashes down at her test, as if the motion would somehow blow away the dust hiding the answer to her failures from her. It must have worked, because her face lit up and she beamed sweetly at Amy. "Oh, you're so right! Wow, you're such a genius! I'm gonna review all my homework answers right now!" And the girl pulled out her notebook and flipped it open, scanning her work and correcting it enthusiastically while Amy sank in her chair and hid behind her own work.

[stormy tom]

Visiting Hours
draft 1

"So this is him," Rebecca swooned, approaching the bed. "He's even more handsome in person, though not as handsome as he is in my imagination. But then again, they never are. Humans just can't compete with the imagination, ya know what I'm saying?" The blonde gave James' face a poke, and his head flopped sideways.

"No I don't," Amy replied blandly. "And stop harassing my patient. I said you can look, not touch." And she promptly took her place on the other side of the bed and righted her patient's head.

"It's not harassing if he's unconscious," Rebecca chimed sweetly. "Besides, I want to see if his skin really is as smooth as it looks." She poked him again, and his head flopped back toward Amy.

"Stop it," Amy replaced James' head perhaps a little too forcefully. At least he was not awake to endure Rebecca's exuberant interest in his features.

"Okay, I am quenched," Rebecca offered dramatically, taking a theatrical step backward. "Anybody come to claim this hottie yet?"

"His team dropped by," Amy grabbed Rebecca's wrist and gave her a tug toward the door, feeling surprisingly annoyed that her classmate was so interested in her patient. Why did she care anyway?

"Aw, they left him a fruit basket!" Rebecca wandered over to the guest chair, which had been consistently unoccupied apart from a collection of fruits assembled haphazardly in a standard dollar store flower basket. There were some apples, bananas, and a couple of rock-solid kiwis. The kiwis were probably for the better: at least they might be ripe by the time James could actually eat anything. At this point he was far too drugged to chew anything, let alone possess the dexterity and hand-eye coordination to peel a banana.

Amy eyed the basket. The fruit looked like it might lose its ripeness before James managed to get to it, apart from the kiwis of course. Even an unsentimental Amy could tell the basket had been put together completely out of obligation, and little to no thought. Yes it was the only thing in the room that anyone had left him. There was no-one to sit next to him and stroke thick locks of dark hair from his pale face, to fall asleep holding his hand in the hopes that it might squeeze back any day now, to worry incessantly over him to the point of annoyance, to try to stay well past visiting hours... nobody. Just a team of hockey players who cared more about making sure they won their next game than the well-being of their team-mate.

A team mate who was never returning to the game. He was done. His career was over. That had to mean something, didn't it?

"Amy, you're staring really intently at that fruit basket. I'm starting to think you'd rather look at it than him or me," Rebecca waved a hand in front of Amy's face cheerfully. "Come on, come meet Mrs. Abercrombie before your shift starts!" And the blonde grabbed Amy by the wrist and skipped cheerfully out of the room with her classmate trailing reluctantly behind.

[stormy tom]

Lean on Me
draft 1

Amy hurried down the steps and went to catch the bus. Her shift started in two hours and she had time to get there and do some work in the break room before then. She was stopped short by a flash of quivering blonde hair by some trees. Ah, it was Rebecca, curled up, shoulders wobbling and causing her curls to gently bounce and say around them.

It was only fair... Amy wandered over and put her bag own, questioning every guideline she lived her life by. This was none of her business. But here she was, bending down and tapping the blonde on the head a couple of times with her palm. "Hey, I have to wait just around the corner for the bus, and I don't want to have to listen to your depressing sobbing."

Rebecca's head shot up, eyes damp and red, the wetness making her blue eyes pop out even more. "You can hear me from there?"

I'm kidding, you stupid blonde. "I have extremely acute hearing."

"Ah," Rebecca carefully dabbed her eyes on a hankie. Amy realised suddenly that there was no entourage. She had always regarded Rebecca as 'popular': she was always talking to people, chatting endlessly with every type of student. She was certainly not short on friends. Yet here she was, alone, possibly even hiding.

"Somebody die?" Amy asked, lifting an eyebrow as she rested her palms into her knees.

"How'd you know?" Rebecca asked, incredulous but hoarse at the same time.

I was kidding yet again. Blondes. "Just getting a vibe," Amy decided now might be a good time to sit down. Rebecca might be a while, and at this point she was in too deep to leave early. "Who was it?"

"Mrs. Abercrombie..." Rebecca sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Amy swallowed a scowl of disgust and handed her a package of tissues. The blonde loudly blew her nose, with undertones of gratefulness. "She had a heart attack... in the middle of the night... I just found out this morning. Who will look after Professor Phyllis the first, Amy! Her son hates cats, and she has no other living relatives! I can't take the cat, Amy, my landlady has rules about pets!"

There was panic in Rebecca's voice. Amy sighed. It was a cat, for Heaven's sake! Amy liked cats, liked them a lot, but a cat was not worth this fuss. "People die, Rebecca, all the time. Especially in a hospital."

"I-I know... but she was so sweet..." Rebecca sniffled apologetically.

"Lots of people are. It's not just nasty people who die."

"I know..." Rebecca wiped her eyes and grabbed another tissue, dabbing her face dry. She was suddenly launching forward and squeezing Amy tightly. "Thanks Amy, I knew you'd understand. Everyone else would think I'm weird or something."

Amy patted Rebecca exactly twice on the shoulder, checking her clothes for fluid when Rebecca pulled away and turned to gather her things. The blonde spun back, her usual cheeriness wiping away her distress. "Okay, let's go to work!" she chimed, skipping past Amy. So Amy trailed behind Rebecca to the bus stop and endured the ride next to her babbling companion all the way to the hospital.

The first thing they heard after getting changed and washed were busy sounds coming from Amy's ward. The closer they got to room 200, the louder the noises became. Wendy suddenly popped her head out, spied Amy, and beckoned her urgently. "Miss Pearson! Perfect timing. You too, Miss Clark, you can help us too."

"What's going on?" Amy and Rebecca both left their things safely tucked in the corner of the room.

"He's waking up," Wendy explained, nodding to a couple of other specialists moving about the bed. Sure enough, those dark eyelashes were trembling as heavy eyelids steadily built up the confidence to open.